


Some Poems Don't Rhyme

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [8]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-10
Updated: 2001-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which decisions are made, consequences are faced, and Jim cleans the loft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Poems Don't Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Sentinel Too, Part Two. WoD, Christi, and of course, Fox helped significantly on this one, which blew chunks until they gently pointed that out to me. To all you wonderful people who wrote and DIDN'T nag me, thank you. Thank you even to those who did.

_I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next._  
  
          -- Gilda Radner  
  


* * *

It was hard enough to get out just the bare bones of the story, there in the harsh light of the hospital room. To see Grandmother's face as he told it made it even harder. But she stayed silent while she listened, and finally ended up pacing to the window, her back to Blair. She couldn't have been seeing much; the view encompassed mainly the hospital's HVAC towers.

"And this woman," Grandmother finally said, her voice tight, "this other Sentinel. She's still out there. She hasn't been caught."

Blair sighed. "No, she hasn't. Yet. Jim's working on it, has been working on it."

" _Jim_ has done quite enough, I should think," she retorted, her voice shaking.

"I won't have you blaming Jim for this," Blair said, as firmly as he could with his lungs still so weak. The oxygen tube was gone -- thank God -- but there were times when he just _felt_ it. "Listen to me, Grandmother. I won't have it."

She whirled on him. "Had he been using his gifts like he was supposed to, had he been working with you instead of at odds with you, this wouldn't have happened, Blair!" It wasn't just her voice that was shaking. She was. Grandmother Raven was shaking.

"Then it's as much my fault as his," Blair insisted, touched by her reaction. "The miscommunication was on both ends. I'm supposed to be the shaman, I'm supposed to be his Guide. I should have seen this territoriality coming, hell, in hindsight it's as plain as day!" She scowled at him and Blair scowled right back. "Alex posed a huge threat to Jim," he continued. "Both to his tribe -- Cascade -- and to his Guide -- me. I felt it from the first, and damned if I didn't suppress it... because all I wanted..." Blair blew his breath out with a small cough and finished sadly, "all I wanted was another Sentinel. A chance to teach, to guide another Sentinel. A chance for my diss to actually work. I let my academic side rule the shaman side, and that's what got me killed."

With a visible effort, Grandmother calmed herself, closing her eyes and holding a huge breath. When she released it with a shudder, she opened her eyes again. "What got you killed, young pup, was a homicidal bitch with a gun," she said softly, and Blair was touched again at the depth of emotion in her eyes.

He patted the bed next to his hip, asking without words for her to sit near him. After a sigh, she did so, perching on the edge of the bed. "Jim and I have made a career out of miscommunication, Grandmother," he murmured. "But he doesn't hurt me intentionally. You have to know that."

"I go away for a week and you two get into all sorts of trouble," she muttered, arranging herself carefully. "It's enough to give me more gray hair than I already have." She studied Blair for a moment, the emotion in her dark eyes showing him how much his 'death' had affected her. "Tell me again about this vision you had. In detail."

"My vision," Blair said, sighing, his eyes drifting up to study the ceiling. "There isn't much detail to tell. It was before... before Jim brought me out of it, or rather, brought me back. Jim said that Incacha guided him into helping me." He looked down to find Grandmother's eyes on his, patiently waiting. "I was a wolf, a great gray wolf, and I was running away from this black jaguar in a jungle. It screamed at me -- God, it was a horrible, lonely sound, you've no idea -- so I turned and ran back, and we leapt together into a flash of light. That's when I started coughing up water."

Blair had often said that Grandmother Raven could be any age, from fifty to one hundred fifty, but that she never seemed to actually be _old_. As Blair watched her now, though, her eyes darkened and her face fell, and she suddenly felt aged to him. He felt tears threaten and didn't know why.

"You know what death and resurrection means to a shaman," she finally said. "You have penetrated the veil, gone beyond."

"I know," Blair replied, looking back up, reluctant to face this confirmation of her mortality.

"And you have found your spirit guide," she added softly, and he nodded.

"I think so," he replied. They sat together in silence for a time, Blair studying the ceiling and Grandmother the floor, Blair wondering how he ever could have let it go this far. His nose still smelled the chlorine of the fountain water, and his lungs still remembered the horror of filling with something other than air.

And his mouth still remembered the touch of Jim's.

* * *

  
Jim stood in the hallway outside Blair's hospital room, frozen in a combination of indecision, fear, relief and trepidation. The jaguar part of him was pacing madly, seeking, seeking... wanting -- desperate -- to join in the hunt. But the rational, human part of him was determined to stay right here, to ensure the Guide (the Guide he had killed! He had _killed_ his Guide!) was all right. It had been two days and he was feeling the separation keenly.  
  
Alex was still out there, the spotted jaguar was still prowling, still a threat to the tribe, to the Guide, still needing capture and seduction. No... not seduction, that was ridiculous; capture and subduing. He _had_ to find her.  
  
He had poured so much into that hunt, in fact, that he had barely returned to his home, had not even visited Blair since the first time. He could hear Grandmother Raven in the room with Blair now, had heard her reactions to Blair explain how he had died, how Jim had put him into the position of being a target.  
  
"He... uh, he kinda made me leave the loft," Blair was saying, and Jim winced. "He boxed up everything -- and it wasn't just my stuff either. All of it. The loft was barren, Grandmother. He was in sensory overload, in hunting mode, and he wanted no distractions."  
  
"So he threw you out?" Grandmother's tone was bordering on incredulous.  
  
"Yeah, you could say that," he replied, his voice reflecting some of the despair he must have felt over the last few days. "And I was too caught up in Alex to figure out what was happening to him. I failed him, Grandmother. I failed badly."  
  
Before he realized what he was doing, Jim was pushing the door open and entering the room. "You didn't fail, Chief," he said, his voice harsh but steady. "If anyone failed, I did." Blair looked better -- outwardly, anyway. The doctor was readying the release orders, in fact, as there was very little the hospital could do further. But Jim could still hear the rawness in Blair's lungs and knew that he would for a long time to come -- even after they had completely healed.  
  
Grandmother Raven stood and faced Jim across Blair's hospital bed. She fairly bristled with wrath and indignation, and Jim felt himself grow unaccountably angry. Blair was still recovering, dammit; this was no place or time for a tongue-lashing.  
  
No matter how deserved.  
  
"Violet and I got back the night before last," she said, addressing Jim and obviously struggling for a normal voice. "When I couldn't reach either of you at home, I tried the police department. I talked to a nice young man named Joel this morning who told me some of what had happened." She glared at Jim. "What do you have to say for yourself, Enqueri?"  
  
The jaguar yowled and Jim could feel the blood drain from his face. "There's nothing I _can_ say," he said softly.  
  
"I find that hard to believe," she spat. "What have you done here, boy? I've only been gone a week and now Blair's in the hospital? Don't you two ever _talk_ to each other?"  
  
"Gra--" Blair began, but Jim cut him off.  
  
"What the hell difference does that make to you?" Jim snarled. "You aren't God, so quit pretending no one can function without you! You haven't got a clue what happened, no matter what Sandburg told you. You just waltz in and take over, like usual, telling people what to do, when to hop and how high, and I for one am _sick_ of it!" Jim advanced on her until they stood separated by only the width of Blair's bed. He realized his fists were as clenched as his jaw and he was trembling with rage. "He _died_. It was _my fault_. I killed him! And I don't have to excuse myself to anyone but him. Goddammit, I got enough of this kind of shit in the army."  
  
Grandmother Raven said nothing, watching him through narrowed eyes, that same penetrating stare that felt as if she were judging his soul. She opened her mouth -- apparently to reply with a heated retort -- but her gaze flickered slightly, to a point behind and lower than Jim and her eyes widened. Jim figured she was probably seeing that damn jaguar, which he could _feel_ pacing and growling behind him, but he didn't look; he refused to look.  
  
"Jim. _Jim_!" Reluctantly dragging his attention away from Grandmother, Jim turned to look at Blair who was urgently pulling on his shirt. "Jim, man, cool it," Blair said, coughing at his vehemence. Listening to the gurgle of Blair's congested lungs, Jim quickly lifted him more upright, so they would work better. It took only a moment for Blair's breathing to ease, but Jim didn't let go of his shoulders. "Jim," Blair murmured, touching Jim's face gently, "we asked for her help. Remember? She has a stake in this now, as much as we do." "Sandburg, I didn't--"  
  
"Jim. It'll be okay." Blair patted the hand still on his shoulder. "Tell me you're here to bust me out of this place. Tell me you've got a line on Alex. Hell, tell me a new recipe for chili. But don't take your pain and frustration out on Grandmother. Remember? That's what _I'm_ for."  
  
The last was said as sadly and earnestly as possible, and Jim deflated. "No, that's not what you're for," he whispered, closing his eyes and resting his forehead briefly against Blair's. After a moment he continued. "Yes, I'm here to take you home -- or rather, to Megan's. I've gotten most your things -- and mine -- out of storage, but I haven't had time to do anything with them. The loft's a mess. Megan said she'd look after you while..." Blair's eyes narrowed when Jim's voice petered out. "While what? You'd better not be planning anything without me, Ellison."  
  
"We've got a line on her, Chief, but she's left the country. You can't go with us, you're not strong enough; Simon and I will go handle it..."  
  
"Like hell," Blair said, pushing Jim away slightly to glare into his eyes. "The bitch _killed_ me, man, I owe her. And you're not leaving me behind again."  
  
What looked to be one monster argument was headed off at the pass by a nurse entering with a wheelchair, Blair's doctor on her heels. While he discussed Blair's dismissal from the hospital, giving him pages of orders and reams of prescriptions to fill, Jim and Grandmother stood out of the way, studiously not looking at each other.  
  
Jim realized his harsh words had been uncalled-for, that, like Blair had said, he was giving his pain and anger a convenient outlet -- a better one than Blair. But dammit, she always had to be _right_ , and after a while, that rankled. Jim swallowed. It also sounded so incredibly juvenile that he was amazed he could even think it. He should apologize. To both of them.  
  
But Blair was signaling him, the doctor wanted to talk to him, and in the bustle, Grandmother Raven kissed Blair on the cheek and slipped out of the room.  
  


* * *

  
There hadn't been time -- between locating Alex and booking flights and getting out of the hospital and running from drug dealers and returning to Cascade with a vegetative fugitive in tow -- to return the loft to its pre-Alex state. When Blair and Jim returned from Sierra Verde, all they wanted was a shower and bed, but what they got was a loft filled with boxes and randomly dumped pieces of furniture.  
  
They stood in the doorway, stunned into immobility for a moment, before slumping. Jim closed the door behind them, and both numbly removed their jackets. "Shit," Blair said, kicking a box at random.  
  
"You said it, Chief," Jim replied wearily, moving into the kitchen. "You hungry?"  
  
"No," Blair said, making his way through the maze toward his bedroom.  
  
"Good, 'cause I don't think we have anything to eat." Jim pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator and moved over to hand one to Blair, who was standing in the doorway to his room. Jim grimaced as he remembered piling furniture and boxes haphazardly in the tiny space.  
  
Blair sighed. "I'm gonna have to move all this shit out before I can go to sleep," he said, dropping his backpack on the floor and opening the bottle.  
  
Jim pulled on his ear. "No, you're not," he said, shaking his head. "You'll sleep upstairs. Go on, get your shower, then go upstairs and sleep. I'll... uh, I'll find a spot to spread out my sleeping bag."  
  
"Jim..."  
  
"Look, it'll be okay, I'm not the one recovering from... from..." Jim suddenly ran out of words.  
  
"From dying?" Blair's voice was soft and sad. "You brought me back, Jim. I'm fine. You don't have to sleep on the floor."  
  
"Sandburg..."  
  
"Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll sleep up there, but you're going to have to join me. You've got room. And I'm tired of arguing about it." Blair sounded as exhausted as he looked, and Jim's face softened.  
  
"Okay, okay, but you get the first shower. And don't forget your pills."  
  
Blair smiled. "Yes, mom." Jim smiled back and gently thwaped Blair on the back of his head. They split up, Blair to the bathroom, and Jim to the loft where he changed the sheets on his bed and found himself some clean clothes.  
  
Going back down the stairs with his arms full, he realized that most of Blair's clean clothes -- those he hadn't packed and taken with him -- were still in his dresser, which was pretty inaccessible. Sighing, he spent a few minutes clearing a path for his partner to at least get clean underwear and sweats. By the time he finished, the shower had stopped and he could hear Blair drying his hair. "I hope you saved me some hot water," he yelled, and heard Blair snort in reply.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he said, emerging from the bathroom amid a cloud of steam. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and another around his shoulders. "It's all yours, man."  
  
"Thanks, Chief," Jim said, gratefully heading for the shower. "I cleared a path for you to get some clothes."  
  
As the door closed behind him, Jim heard Blair whisper, "Thanks, Jim."  
  
In record time, Jim was clean and dry and ready -- more than ready -- for sleep. Walking up the stairs in the dim loft to find Sandburg in his bed was strange, and if he hadn't been so exhausted, it might have seemed stranger. As it was, all he did was hesitate for a moment before lifting the sheets and crawling in.  
  
And if he woke up in the morning wrapped around Blair, well, that just made sense. He was subconsciously trying to protect his Guide. That's all it was.  
  


* * *

  
The next day was busy. Jim had one day off from work, graciously allowed by Simon, and knew that he had to get the loft back into working order within that time. Blair wanted to help, but Blair was still not quite over the effects of drowning and the trip to Sierra Verde -- well, not according to Jim, anyway. So Jim ended up doing the heavy stuff -- which was only fitting -- and Blair unpacked boxes. Lots and lots of boxes.  
  
By late afternoon, the place was beginning to feel like home again, and both men were worn out -- again. People had kept dropping by all day, friends from the station and from the U, neighbors who had heard what happened. Some had brought food, some had helped with the heavier lifting, some had just hung around making pests of themselves and had to be gently shown to the door. But all the coming and going had one side-effect; it kept the two men from talking to each other.  
  
At 6:00 p.m., the pizza Jim had ordered had been delivered and devoured, the rest of the beer had been drunk (although not by Blair, who was still on meds), and the two weary men were sprawled on the sofa, too tired to even pick up the remote and turn on the television. Blair closed his eyes, and for a while, Jim thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke.  
  
"I keep seeing the wolf," Blair said softly.  
  
Oh, shit. "Um," Jim said, fidgeting, "you... um, you mean here? In the loft?"  
  
His eyes still closed, Blair answered almost dreamily. "No, here in the loft I see the jaguar. I see the wolf whenever I close my eyes."  
  
"You... see the jaguar. Here." Jim swallowed and his eyes darted around the apartment.  
  
"Yeah, this morning," Blair replied. "When I woke up, it was on the foot of the bed, clear as day, looking at me." He opened his eyes, and dark blue lasers pinned Jim to the sofa. "You had already gotten up. When I sat up, it jumped off the bed and disappeared. You didn't see it?"  
  
Mutely, Jim shook his head. Blair sighed. "We've got some unresolved issues here, Jim," he said, then snorted with laughter. "'Unresolved issues.' Man, I am definitely getting too old."  
  
Jim smiled nervously and looked away. "Yeah, well, I guess.. yeah. You're right about the issues anyway. I suppose we should talk about it."  
  
"Actually, no," Blair said, shocking Jim. "That's probably not a good idea. I was going to... well, I think we'd be better off doing something else. Something a little less stressful for you?"  
  
Glancing at Blair, Jim saw the glint of mischief and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Chief," he whined, and Blair snickered. "Okay, okay, so what do you propose, Darwin?"  
  
Sobering, Blair said, "I think what we need to do is contact our spirit animals. And the best way to do that is on the spirit plain, through meditation; to 'cry for a vision.'" He picked at the hem of his shirt restlessly. "I'd like to call Grandmother and see if she'd come over to help us with a spirit walk," he finished in a rush, not looking at Jim.  
  
"What, tonight?" Jim asked, his mouth going dry and his palms sweating.  
  
"Yeah, actually, we're tired, more susceptible to the influences of the spirits, and that beats the hell out of beating ourselves black and blue in a sweat lodge," Blair said. After a moment, he added, "You said in the hospital that you weren't ready to take that trip with me." Blair looked at Jim out of the corner of his eye. "Do you think you could be ready now? Please?"  
  
Jim thought. The whole concept of his spirit animal actually freaked him out completely, and the idea of actually going to _look_ for it -- again -- made him want to run screaming into the night. But Blair was asking, and it wasn't as if Jim could deny Blair anything. "I..." Jim rubbed his hands on his sweatpants. "Can't we do it without her?" he asked. "I don't think I'm very high on her list of friends right now."  
  
Blair regarded him soberly. "Yeah, you two really went at it. She didn't deserve that, you know. Actually," Blair continued thoughtfully, "you didn't either. I think you were both kind of freaking out there."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Jim sighed. "But it's late, and if you really insist on doing this now..."  
  
Swallowing, Blair nodded slowly. "I'd like to do it now, and if you really don't want Grandmother here, well, we can try. I -- I can't guarantee anything, though. I'm just not sure we can do it without her."  
  
"Well, let's try it," Jim said, wearily scrubbing his face with his hands, glad that his voice didn't reflect his trepidation. "I think it's worth a shot. But not for too long, okay, Chief? I'm really whipped here."  
  
"No, not too long," Blair agreed, putting Jim to work lighting candles and a light, sweet-smelling incense, then starting a fire. As the rituals calmed him, Jim realized that despite being nervous, he was coming to almost welcome the... whatever it was. Spirit walk. Maybe some issues could be resolved. Maybe he could face Grandmother after this, and apologize, clear the air.  
  
Maybe, if he was lucky, nothing at all would happen. Yeah, right.  
  
Blair puttered in the background, turning off lights and putting a tape of low, rhythmic drumming on the stereo. It filled the loft, but at the same time it was somehow unobtrusive -- background sounds much like the beating of a heart. As Jim finished with the fire, Blair plopped back on the sofa, patting the cushion next to him. "Do you remember how to meditate?" he asked Jim.  
  
"Yeah, a little bit," Jim replied, sitting nervously in the space indicated. "I'm not very good at it."  
  
"Normally," Blair said quietly, "we'd have someone be the anchor, and a more experienced person to go in with us, to make sure we come back." Jim's eyes widened... to make sure they came back? "Since it's just us, we'll need to get comfortable," Blair continued, not noticing Jim's nervousness, "we have to be touching, and I've set the tape to automatically switch off when it's done, instead of repeat. That should help to remind us to come back. And I don't think we should try to go very deep."  
  
After a few minutes' thought and wiggling, they determined that back-to-back gave them the most comfort and touch, Blair in lotus, Jim stretched out, both of them leaning against the back of the sofa. Blair stuck a large pillow under Jim's knees, in deference to his back, and Jim draped the afghan over Blair's lap, to make sure he was warm.  
  
"All right, if you're sure... let's give it a go -- I mean, let's at least practice. You've been on the spirit plane a heck of a lot more than me, anyway, it should be familiar to you." Blair took a deep breath. "Start with your breathing, you remember? Close your eyes and go to your quiet place..."  
  
Jim breathed. In through his nose, hold it for a count of five, then out through his mouth for a count of ten -- just as Blair had taught him -- letting the stress and fear go. Through the muscles in his back, he could feel Blair doing the same, and fell into the same rhythm as his partner. The drumming seemed to get louder, but not painfully so, and the scent from the candles and the incense was both pleasant and relaxing. Eventually, Blair began to speak, telling him what to do.  
  
"There is a hole in front of you, a deep, dark well," he murmured. "Fill it with all the feelings in your body, both good and bad. Let them drain through your feet into the well, leaving you empty and clean. All thought, all feeling, all of it, let it drain into the well, leaving your body."  
  
Concentrating, Jim tried to visualize what he was saying. All emotion, all feelings -- well, there was his fear over doing this -- whatever it was. He poured that into the well. There was his panic at not being able to hear Blair's heart at the fountain, and the anger at Alex. Breathing, he let them drain, slowly, his heart reluctant to give up their familiarity. There were his mixed-up feelings for Blair, feelings that he didn't really know how to handle, much less articulate. Let it all pour into the well, Enqueri, he heard in the back of his head, so he did.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. Jim opened his eyes.  
  


* * *

  
Blair usually found it easy to slip into a meditative trance. This time -- perhaps due to his anxiety over an unsupervised spirit walk -- peace eluded him for a long while. He could feel Jim -- pressed to his back -- breathing, slowly relaxing, and allowed himself to fall into that comforting rhythm, the comforting heat of his best friend, while he guided both of them into a light trance. Random thoughts slipped through his head; and he let them go, not trying to stop or censor them. The odd -- but decidedly not unpleasant -- feeling of waking up in Jim's bed; the pain and anguish at seeing Jim kiss Alex; the defeat and sense of failure he'd had watching Alex slip away from them -- all flitted through his brain but did not touch him. He followed his own instructions and let it all wash away, let it slip down his body like silk and flow from him.  
  
An insistent pressure against his knees caused his eyes to open, almost involuntarily. A great gray wolf was shouldering against his legs, and met his gaze when Blair looked down. The deep golden eyes were wise and old, and pulled Blair along when the wolf moved away from him. With a start, Blair realized he was in some sort of forest, a rain forest, but whether South or North American, he couldn't tell. It was strangely quiet, and everything seemed tinged with blue. Far, far in the background was an insistent drumming.  
  
The wolf led him through the underbrush confidently, often glancing over its shoulder to make sure he was following. Still calm, still in a slightly detached state, Blair followed, moving vegetation aside and stepping over exposed roots. The ground was level, which only added to the dreamlike quality of the place to him. Occasionally, he heard the rush of wings, but never saw anything.  
  
Finally, reddish rocks appeared, scattered among the trees. An opening, a glade with a strangely familiar temple, loomed ahead of him, shadowed by trees even greater than what he had been moving through. On a small step, a level dais-like piece of stone, there was a heap of spotted fur. The wolf stopped, glaring at whatever it was, and Blair could see its lip curled back in a snarl. Just as he realized that the spotted fur was a broken, nearly dead spotted jaguar, the black jaguar appeared from the other end of the glade, Jim directly behind it.  
  


* * *

  
When Jim opened his eyes, he realized he was in a familiar place, the blue-tinged jungle where most of his visions had taken him in the past. In the silence of the place, he heard a far-off drumming, a soothing sound that made him remember the Chopec -- it calmed him and he breathed deeply.  
  
He was not surprised to spot the black jaguar, and this time he followed it willingly. The animal stayed just ahead of him, not looking back. It didn't take long for them to reach the glade with the red-rock temple, but this time, the jaguar circled it instead of climbing the stairs.  
  
On the other side stood Blair, a huge gray wolf at his side. The wolf was focused on something lying on a stone and snarling, but the jaguar ignored the snarl and walked right up to it. Turning from whatever had it so riled, the wolf greeted the jaguar with a nose rub, and the two animals caressed each other before sitting down, shoulder to shoulder, facing the makeshift dais. Jim looked at Blair, then turned to see what it was on the rock.  
  
It was a broken, badly hurt and barely breathing spotted jaguar, a twin to the one he had seen in the convenience store. It was Alex.  
  
Trembling, Jim lifted himself onto the rock, settling down on his haunches close -- but not too close -- to the damaged animal. It didn't even see him. Shortly, he felt Blair join him in his contemplation, and then both spirit guides as well. There was no sound except for the distant drumming and the harsh, staccato breathing from the spotted jaguar.  
  


* * *

  
Blair was startled to see the black jaguar and the wolf greet each other so -- so affectionately, but then realized he shouldn't be. They had merged, had joined together to bring him back; they were nearly one creature. One spirit, anyway. Although the idea of a cat and a dog merging gave him a headache...  
  
When Jim climbed up next to the injured cat, Blair frowned at him, at his pale face and anguished expression. It wasn't until he climbed up and hunkered down next to Jim that he realized; the cat was Alex. The damaged, nearly dead feline lay in an untidy heap, and Blair wasn't sure how he knew it was Alex, but he knew -- he could feel it. And more. Silently, their animal guides joined them in their perusal, the wolf still bristling slightly.  
  
"What she could have been," Blair heard Jim say, almost too softly to hear. "She wasn't what she was supposed to be. I wanted to help her. I wanted..."  
  
"She was a parody of what she was supposed to be," Blair said, carefully studying only the cat. "A Sentinel is supposed to protect and serve. She made a mockery of that."  
  
"And she killed you." Blair heard the tears in Jim's voice, but refused to look at him.  
  
"Yes, she did," Blair said, surprising himself with his calmness. "Even if I could have been her guide, she wouldn't have let me. She would have taken everything I had to offer and more, then would have left me a dried-up husk."  
  
From the corner of his eyes, Blair saw Jim hang his head. "Like I'm going to," he whispered.  
  
"No," Blair said firmly, unsurprised at his friend's self-flagellation. "No, you would not -- will not. You are a Sentinel. You are everything she refused, rejected, denied. And we are bound now, soul to soul." Where that last thought had come from, Blair couldn't say, but it felt right. They _were_ bound.  
  
Slowly, sadly, the black jaguar stepped forward to its damaged counterpart, gently nosing the dying creature and making a sound much like a human moan. The wolf, back still up but no longer snarling, also paced forward, sniffing. The spotted cat didn't move, but its breathing grew shallower. The black cat lay down -- near it but not touching -- resting its great dark head on its paws, defeat etched in every muscle. The wolf walked around the injured one to sit with its friend and soul-mate, comfortingly. Then it looked up at Blair and Jim.  
  
 _This was a choice_  
  
Blair blinked, then glanced at Jim, who, by his stunned expression, had clearly also heard the ringing thought. Looking back to the wolf, Blair cleared his throat. "It was a choice? Then, it was her choice? Something I -- we -- had no control over?"  
  
 _Yes_  
  
Jim's voice sounded desolate, cracked and thick. "But... but I wanted... she..."  
  
 _This was a choice_  
  
Blair stood, holding out his hand to Jim, who, after a moment, took it and also stood. They faced each other, holding hands, and Blair was surprised to notice tears running down both their faces. "In the end," Blair whispered, "she chose. She chose, Jim. No matter how much we wanted to help her. She chose."  
  
Jim closed his eyes and bent forward, touching his forehead to Blair's. "She chose," he agreed sadly, softly. The shallow, gasping breath of the wounded animal stuttered once, then stopped with a sigh.  
  


* * *

  
"No, getting exhausted from moving around furniture all day is _not_ the same thing as getting prepared in a sweat lodge!" Grandmother Raven's voice was furious, but low, in deference to their location -- the bird-watching room at the CNARC. Blair had chosen it that evening for several definite purposes... to keep voices (and hopefully tempers) low, to be a balm to the frayed nerves of an overworked Sentinel, and because he wanted to see if the Stellar's jays would come out for him.  
  
Jim stood, still and silent, near the window in the dark room, watching the birds at their feeders. Blair sat in a chair, and Grandmother paced behind them. She was limping, and that worried Blair; her hips must be giving her problems. "You yourself told me there are many ways to enter the spirit realm," Blair said. "We really hadn't intended on going very deep," Blair continued mildly, but she cut him off.  
  
"What you did yesterday was not only foolhardy, it was dangerous," she growled. "You could have gotten lost. You could have called anything to you. Anybody could have told you that! Goddammit, memim'en steqeiye', if you're going to be my student, you'll have to obey my rules!"  
  
Jim turned, his arms crossed but his face mercifully calm. "What did you call him?" he asked curiously.  
  
Grandmother stopped pacing and sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I called him little wolf in Salish. Well, actually, small wolf."  
  
Nodding, clearly considering it, Jim said, "Yeah, that fits. Especially compared to the big wolf he hangs out with."  
  
"Hey, hey!" Blair objected, raising his hands and looking between the two of them. "No shots at the height there, guys!" Jim smiled and Grandmother's face held an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace.  
  
"I behaved like an ass last week," Jim continued, looking directly at Grandmother. "And I wanted to apologize. You didn't deserve being my scapegoat."  
  
Shocked, all Blair could do was stare, open-mouthed, at Jim, who smirked a little at him. The man was so dead when Blair got hold of him... but Grandmother interrupted his train of thought. "For some reason, this memim'en steqeiye' seems to bring out the worst in us," she said, and when Blair turned to her, he saw she was smiling at him ruefully. "You have my apology as well. My temper gets ahead of me at times... and, well, I'm old. I let it." She sighed.  
  
"Grandmother," Blair said earnestly, "I promise, we'll never do that alone again. Especially not after the nightmares we both had," he added, shuddering.  
  
"That's the least of what you deserved," she muttered, but nodded. "Thank you for that. Enqueri, see to it that he follows that oath. I -- I care about you two imbeciles too much to lose you now."  
  
Quick, quiet steps in the hall outside the room alerted them to the approach of one of the younger teachers. "Grandmother Raven," she said, poking her head in the room and looking at Blair and Jim curiously, "the kids are all ready for you."  
  
"Oh, I'm late. I'll be right there, Katie. Thanks." Blair stood and she hugged him, then hugged Jim, who approached her diffidently. "Call me tomorrow, boys," she said. "We'll need to discuss this in more depth." They nodded and she left the room, her limp barely noticeable.  
  
Blair dropped back down on the chair, and after a moment, Jim joined him. "Well, that went better than I had hoped," Blair muttered, running his fingers through his hair.  
  
"Yeah." They watched the frantic birds for a few moments in silence, then Jim spoke again. "I never said I'm sorry to you, either," he said quietly. "And I am. For all of it."  
  
"I know, man," Blair murmured. "Me too."  
  
"We should get home. We didn't get a whole hell of a lot of sleep last night," Jim said.  
  
"Yeah." Blair didn't move, though, and after a few minutes, he tentatively asked, "Jim? Uh, would it be all right if I, I mean, for tonight, would, could I..."  
  
"I think it's a good idea if you want to sleep upstairs with me again," Jim said, his ears turning pink. "After last night... well, I don't really want to be alone either."  
  
Sighing in relief, Blair said, "Thanks, man." They stayed where they were for a few more minutes, reluctant to leave the warm haven of darkness and cheerful sound. Suddenly, a Stellar's jay landed on the front birdfeeder, and Blair smiled.

end


End file.
